I never knew why
the chopping had to be done
but puppy dogs
had to lose their tails
either for their own good
or to make them look good.
It was bad.
It was some brutal adult
reasoning
as if it were a law
that ordained it had to be done.
I had to hold
the squirming frightened puppy dog down
as the hand held cleaver
swooshed through air & bone.
Looking into big brown brimming eyes
that begged for explanation
when I had none.
Both boy & dog
squealing as the thing was done
& hot black tar was daubed
on the bloody wound
that finally found
healing
but forever left my mind
bleeding
an open
bloody
wound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
stop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suckstop it you suck